


collect the love, build a nest

by spektri



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Default Scott Ryder, Discussion of relationships, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, scott needs a nap.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spektri/pseuds/spektri
Summary: Scott is exhausted and Reyes is complicated.“Someone trying to kill you again?” asks Reyes, and Scott knows even without looking that he is watching him from his usual spot, one cushion right from the corner. The question is more a joke than it is concern, though Scott knows that having “the Charlatan” as a boyfriend means there’s always a sniper trained on anyone who might give him grief.“Nope,” Scott says, and wiggles his hips a little to find a more comfortable spot. “Just running from my responsibilities. And towards a nap.”





	collect the love, build a nest

After a hard day of exploring, running other people’s errands and trying to talk with the Nexus leaders without going crazy all Scott wants is a moment of _peace_. Not a night out, not a heartfelt talk with a friend and absolutely not a calming round of poker or whatever other game his crew may have cooked up in an attempt to beat Gil at. As much as he would love to find the peace in his quarters at the Tempest he knows all he would get is five hundred emails from people asking for him, seven callers waiting in the vid comms, and Payne the Pyjak wreaking havoc; all things that amount to stress at best and absolute breakdown at worst.

Thankfully there is one place he can get that, even if the _quiet_ part of _peace and quiet_ would be hard-fought—literally, and therefore not realistically. He’s got the access to the best harbour in Kadara Port, and he is not above using it for his own gain.

Tartarus’s regulars have long since gotten used to seeing the Pathfinder having his run of the slums, so nobody bats an eye; even if one or two do give a nasty sideways glance powered by his outpost (and enjoying the Collective’s protection to boot; no-one has forgotten what happened to the desperate outlaw after a failed assassination attempt that, for their poor luck, Reyes happened to witness) he draws no more attention than any old drug-addict fixing for a, well, fix.

He forgoes the stairs in favor of simply boost-jumping from ground floor to first, and strides in the way that is _just_ short of running to the door leading to the VIP room. The doors open after communicating with his omni-tool for the smallest of delays, and there it is: the long, firm, funky-smelling refuge of Reyes’s couch.

Scott is almost quicker to rid his armour than the door is to hiss and click shut—beautifully securely, only opening for those with access. In his trusty Blasto tank and regulation work trousers he leaps to the left end of the couch, sprawling on his back with the armrest as his pillow and one foot touching the floor, one forearm over his eyes and the other hand rested on his stomach.

“Someone trying to kill you again?” asks Reyes, and Scott knows even without looking that he is watching him from his usual spot, one cushion right from the corner. The question is more a joke than it is concern, though Scott knows that having “the Charlatan” as a boyfriend means there’s always a sniper trained on anyone who might give him grief.

“Nope,” Scott says, and wiggles his hips a little to find a more comfortable spot. “Just running from my responsibilities. And towards a nap.”

“Fair enough.”

Reyes says nothing more, and Scott sighs, content. He only needs a short nap and then he can go be the Pathfinder again. He shut off his omni-tool communications before entering Tartarus, so now nothing should bother him. He can ignore what is either guilt or _sense of duty!_ nagging at him at the deep corners of his conscience, and he can ignore the fact that the walls of Reyes’s room do nothing to block out the bass-pumping club music that the caged dancers shake their stuff to.

When he feels his thigh being brushed against something soft and warm he realises he did not remember to account for one extremely persistent distraction. After throwing his arm on the backrest and off his face he opens his eyes and meets Reyes’s, straight above him.

“Hey there,” Reyes says, shamelessly using his an octave-lower flirting voice, and smiling with matching lips. He’s holding himself up with his hands down on both sides of Scott’s head, legs between Scott’s and bodies flush against each other; as always he comes with ulterior motives.

“That’s not helpful, Reyes,” Scott sighs, to no avail; Reyes’s smile widens, and he lowers himself close enough to touch his lips against Scott’s jaw.

“That is no way to greet your long-distance lover, is it?”

“We saw each other two days ago.”

Reyes nuzzles against Scott’s neck, and Scott, prone to suggestion as he is, lays his hand against the small of his back. He can _feel_ Reyes smiling at it.

“A lot can happen in two days.”

“Should I be worried?”

Reyes lifts his head to meet Scott’s eyes again, and his expression is almost uncharastically serious.

“Never,” he says. He searches Scott’s face for something; whether he finds it or not Scott doesn’t know. He reiterates, with emphasis: “ _Never_ with me.”

Scott could mention the lies and secrets in the past, but he promised it is behind them, and Reyes promised _no more;_ he might be—he _has been_ —warned about the trustworthiness of those promises, and there will be a stubborn doubt in his mind for still some time to come, but. He _wants_ to have that trust. And that counts for something.

Scott drags a hand across Reyes’s back to pull him down by the back of his head and softly presses their lips together. In the impatient huff of Reyes’s breath Scott can feel the want for more, but he doesn’t push it. He lets Scott pull back when he wishes, and when he does, Reyes presses his face against the side of Scott’s neck, letting his weight press against Scott’s body.

They fall into comfortable silence, Reyes’s breathing soothing against Scott’s neck. Scott listens to the sounds from downstairs, incomprehensible yelling and drunken confessions, people wolf-whistling the dancers. It’s not too long ago that it all felt unnerving, and yet now it is familiar, almost a comfort. Of course, the man lying on top of him might have something to do with it as well.

Reyes is no frail thing, so the weight is on the worse side of comfortable; still it feels calming, somehow. The days of exhaustion carry him to the edges of consciousness, just about ready to sleep it off.

He is roused ahead of time by a voice that he for two whole moments is too disoriented to place. With a few grumpy blinks he manages to get his mind back to reality, rightly placing the source of the voice as Reyes, though not what the content of it was. He turns his head just a bit so his lips grace Reyes’s forehead, and cards his fingers in his hair. He hums, a question in the higher note, asking for a repeat of the words.

He says, barely louder than a whisper, “I said, ‘I missed you’.”

Scott pulls Reyes against him tighter. There’s an odd empty sensation curling in the pit of his stomach. “Two _days_ , Reyes,” he says.

“Two days is an eternity without you, Ryder.”

“You’re starting to sound pretty sappy. _Vidal_.”

A huff of air against Scott’s skin tells of a sigh. “I prefer ‘romantic’.”

“How about ‘codependent’?” Scott suggests.

“You are killing me here.”

“Pretty sure you’re unkillable, Charlatan.”

Reyes’s weight is extracted off Scott as he gets up; Scott follows him with his eyes. He can’t stop a yawn from breaking out, which confirms what he already knew—there is no energy left in him to leave room for any activities more challenging than a nap.

“I still can’t tell if you’re mocking me when you use that title,” Reyes says, his back towards Scott.

Sore spot. Scott didn’t mean it in a bad way, at least he doesn’t think so, but it’s… it’s not something they’ve gone over extensively. Perhaps they should. Scott should iterate: _I believe in you, I think you’re better for Kadara than Sloane ever was, I understand why you lied and I forgive you for it_ ; I trust you. But he isn’t sure he can, not yet, the wound is still too fresh to give the bandaid his blessing.

“I still like you,” he offers instead.

“I’m a very hard man not to like,” Reyes says, though the tone is not quite as light as it should be.

“Now who’s mocking?”

That, at least, begets a small amused chuckle. “Far be it from me.”

“ _And_ I missed you, too.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Come back? I kinda liked you as a blanket.”

Reyes squats next to Scott, eye-level with him yet again. There’s a crease between his brows Scott can’t remember having seen before, and without a second thought he traces it with a thumb to Reyes’s visible wonderment.

“You must be desperate to choose a bar over the quiet of your state-of-the-art ship,” he says. Scott doubts it’s what really is on his mind, but maybe there is too much there to unpack for now.

“I am,” he admits.

“I could take you to my apartment,” Reyes says. “It’s marginally quieter. _And_ has a real bed.”

“I must be special that you would let me there.”

“You are.” He says it with heartfelt emphasis, and it burns in Scott’s belly. “And I meant what I said. No more secrets.”

Scott smiles—every time Reyes says that Scott’s heart grows five sizes, and the voices of his teammates telling him to _be careful_ get quieter. And Reyes smiles a matching smile, and if there were anyone else in the room but the two of them they would surely seem like idiots, and maybe they _are_ that. It doesn’t matter. Scott kisses the man in front of him again, deeper this time, with purpose.

“Alright.” Scott wraps his arms around Reyes’s neck and looks at him, expression equal parts soft and devious. “But you’re _taking_ me there, Sir I-Prefer-Romantic.”

“Anything for you,” Reyes says with a signature wink, and hauls Scott up in his arms with only minimal effort.

**Author's Note:**

> i still haven't finished me:a but i was lying on my friends' couch and i couldn't stop thinking about scott and reyes cuddling on that tartarus vip room couch. and then dialogue happened because of course it happened.


End file.
